Seven Archangels: Annihilation (30 page)

"Don't make me do that again." Beelzebub's voice sounded quiet, so quiet in comparison to the screaming fire. Where was he? "I hate that you made me do that."

He kicked the wing to uncover Mephistopheles' head. It didn't hurt. How could it not hurt? How could anything hurt ever again?

For a moment he wondered if Beelzebub had come closer and extended his hand, and he tensed rock solid. But all Beelzebub said was, "Whatever you've done, I won't bring it up again."

With him so close and so spent, Mephistopheles could rip out Beelzebub's heartstrings now and be rid of him forever. But he didn't.

Then the Guard was down and the Seraph gone, and only the Cherub remained.

- + -

Warmth.

Hands. Softness. Sadness. Worry.

It's okay. I think it's okay.

Why do I think it's okay?

I don't know.

Worry. Not my worry.

Father?

Gabri'li, Gabriel-mine, stay with them.

I don't know.

You're hurt. Stay with them, Gabri'li.

"Gabriel." Firm voice. Worried. Uriel. "I'm going inside. Stay focused."

Gabriel tried to grasp the fog around him, groped for a landmark, wished for a handhold amid the swirl. Tides drifted him sideways, rocked him. Sleep.

Then confusion, fear, tension. Gabriel flexed his spine, wings snapping open.

Crashing sounds, an outcry. The tension ended. Michael's voice: "Clear the room! Everything out!"

A moment later the ground beneath him felt harder, the room emptier, the sounds more echoing. Back to the fog.

"Gabriel," came Uriel's voice again. "Try to hold still. I'm reaching in."

Again panic, tension, twisting. Tumult around him, and then it eased off.

"Raphael, hold him!"

"I can't! It's reflex."

"He's got to be still."

"I'll try getting into his mind," Raphael said. "Then you can go in again."

A moment later, the fog thinned, and Gabriel had the peculiar feeling of being two places at once, one in the fog, one above himself in the cell where Remiel had attacked Camael, only all the furnishings and contents and even Camael himself had gone. Looking through Raphael's eyes, he saw himself in his own lap—except it was Raphael's lap. Scary to see oneself so faint, as if an errant wind could snuff out the spark. Michael looked on a razor's edge of strain, and Uriel wore lines of tension.

You have to stay still,
Raphael told him.

Gabriel agreed. He watched as Raphael knotted his hands around his own, feeling the double-touch from both sides as if he were touching his own hand. "Let's go."

But as soon as Uriel went inside, Gabriel felt the tension, the pressure, the urge to
run away—fight them—where am I?
and he flexed right out of Raphael's grasp.

Uriel pulled back again, and this time no calm remained in the Throne's eyes. "I can't do anything if he doesn't stay still!"

Michael moved closer. "I'll Guard him down to the floor."

"No, you will not," Raphael said.

"Uriel needs him still. He's thrashing."

"He can't help it." Raphael crossed his arms over Gabriel's chest. "When you touch the string, it triggers a reflex, and he moves, and then he doesn't know where he is, and he gets frightened. It also doesn't feel all that pleasant."

Gabriel realized he'd sent some of that through Raphael. The Seraph continued, "So I'm not going to let you Guard him down. It's too much like what they did."

Uriel said, "I need him in one place."

"Give me another chance," said Raphael.

"And if that doesn't work," Michael said, but Raphael interrupted, "Then you'll give me another one after that."

Gabriel felt Raphael concentrate, and the Seraph's spirit slipped away from him. He tried to cry out for him, but then he tumbled back into the fog, grasping at a world as insubstantial as a cloud. He called for God.

You're not alone.

Gabriel tried to curl around himself in the mist, but even then he felt himself drifting apart.

A light shone; next two lights. He concentrated on those. Hearing, "Hold onto me," Gabriel trained on the voice, focused on the amber light and in that moment recognized Raphael come to him, face to face, battling the same currents only without drifting. Here was solidity. Gabriel extended his heart for an anchor.

"We're together," Raphael said. "We're going to do this together."

Gabriel relaxed, less afraid of his own body as long as Raphael stayed near.

"You need to stay still." Raphael's heart nestled around his. "Completely still. You need to relax so Uriel can tighten your heartstrings. It may hurt, but we're going to do this together."

Gabriel looked into the amber and resolved to stay still.

"Now," Raphael whispered.

Every part of Gabriel felt like fire, but he trained himself on the amber. "Perfect," Raphael was saying. "Just like that. You're doing great. Now relax. Relax just a bit."

Relax? But the dread, the tension, every moment unbearable, foreboding; he was unworthy, small, ignorant. He grieved for things lost and despaired of things found. He couldn't do this—

"You can do this," Raphael said. "Rely on me."

Stay with the amber. Relax.

"You're doing great."

This was great? This was awful. This was frightening. This was too big a task—

"This is you and me," Raphael said. "It's just the right size for us. You can do it."

A moment later, information flooded him: it wasn't just the damage done by Remiel's power; Uriel had found some parts misplaced. Uriel was going to have to unlace him pretty far down to move things back where they belonged. The tension Gabriel felt—all the negative emotions, the chill—were the byproduct of the parts of himself scraping against one another in a bad fit.

His whole personality began vibrating as if it were a Seraph's, and he felt Uriel unhooking and unlacing the parts of him he'd worked so hard to keep together. His vision plunged to blackness, and he let out a cry, but he felt hands, felt love. Raphael was with him, and God was always with Raphael, so God must be here in the horror too. Tension shrieked through him and fright wrapped him round, but Raphael streamed with constant approval.

Gabriel trembled but held.

"You're doing great," Raphael said.

More information: Uriel would now move the parts that were misplaced before. Then everything needed to be re-threaded, and they'd be done.

"Steady," Raphael said.

Steady. Hold steady. amber vision

darkness     shêli     hold            stay

God            still       hayfight     Mephistopheles

cookies       fire       chains        checkmate

Raphael      fire       love            Father

almost done        stay focused         I love you

"You're doing so well," Raphael was saying.

Father?

I'm proud of you, Gabri'li.

Gabriel reached forward with his heart, found Raphael and clung to him. "Just a little longer," Raphael said. "Uriel is lacing you back up again."

Why didn't it get easier to hold still the longer he did it? If anything, it got harder. He could feel Uriel's touch against his soul, the pressure of being shaped and focused, the random memories that popped into his mind and even more random emotions that had nothing to do with the thoughts. One moment he saw images of flowers and ached for the fallen, and in the next fury at Remiel while he remembered the building of the Brooklyn Bridge, then a meticulous analysis of a minor point of law, and a moment after that unbridled joy as if transported by music.

Physical sensations crowded him: pain in his jaw, in his neck. His stomach tightened. A tension in his throat made him long to throw back his head, but then there was Raphael, urging him to keep still, almost done. The black heightened to grey, and again he could see Raphael's eyes in the dark, and a moment after could feel their hands joined, and then as if breaking the surface of the world Gabriel gasped, and Uriel said, "One more—" and Raphael said "Just another minute—" and Gabriel could hear them with his ears rather than his heart. Next he could see Raphael's face. Raphael was breathing with him, gazes locked, their bodies in a rhythm while Uriel continued to manipulate the ties inside.

A surge of triumph. Uriel pulled back and became solid. Raphael coalesced from his spiritual form and reappeared sitting in front of Gabriel. Michael in the corner moved in closer.

Gabriel looked around at them and swallowed. He whispered, "Thank you."

Chapter Twenty

Jesus returned to Mary's kitchen. "Remiel's about to awaken."

Mary pulled a batch of cookies from the oven, an anachronism in a house otherwise replicating the Nazareth one where she and Joseph had raised Jesus. "She didn't move the whole time you were gone."

Mary spatulaed the cookies onto a cooling rack and then handed two to Jesus. He grinned. "Thanks, Mom."

Joseph came from the outside holding a wooden box, and he and Jesus spent a couple of minutes looking over the recessed hinges and admiring how smoothly the wood passed against itself. "The grain on this is incredible." Joseph ran a finger over it. "I'll be back in the shop getting it stained if you want to come look at the rest of the wood."

"And I'll be back in a bit." Mary kissed Jesus on the cheek. "You take good care of Remiel."

"No worries." Jesus snitched an extra cookie from the rack. "Thanks for staying with her. She'd have known if she were alone."

Jesus went into the back room, like his own, and sat beside the mattress where he'd laid Remiel a couple of hours ago. When he touched her head, she blinked unsteadily.

"What am I doing here?" She sought out Jesus. "What did I do?"

Jesus took her hand. "Why do you assume you did something?"

"Because my whole heart feels embarrassed, and I'm blank on a chunk of time." She recoiled a bit. "What did I do?"

Her hands clenched his, and her eyes glistened.

He didn't look away. "You tried to annihilate your twin."

Gasping, she pulled back her hands, covering her face. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" She huddled over herself and brought her wings between herself and Jesus. He stroked the outermost feathers, but she pulled tighter. "Don't touch me. I'm wretched."

"You were in pain."

"Everyone's in pain."

He laid an arm over whatever of her she would allow him to grasp, and when she recoiled from even that much contact, he murmured to her, "Be still. I'm not leaving you."

"Did I realize how wrong it was?" She clutched at the skin of her arms. "I don't remember anything."

"I'm keeping the memory from you. Do you want it?"

She shuddered.

Jesus understood. "I do have one request, though."

She looked up, eyes molten gold. "Anything."

He waited a moment. "I want you to surrender to me the knowledge of how to unmake souls."

Remiel's gaze dropped. "So I can't try again."

"I want that information reserved to me. Uriel is going to render it back once Gabriel is fully mended, and now I'm going to ask you to return it too."

"Take it," she said, and although she felt no different, she knew that she no longer would be able to insert her fingers into the heartstrings of a being and release them from the hooks and eyelets. She chose not to probe the space, like the gap left by a baby tooth. "Please forgive me."

"There isn't any sin in you, Remiel'shêli." Jesus stroked her hair. "Your soul is as clean as I created it, only scarred."

"Couldn't you remove that too?" Remiel said. "Could you make me not just the sole remaining Watcher?"

Jesus folded his arms. "You don't want to be yourself?"

"Why would I?" Remiel's mouth twitched as she stared at her hands. "I'm kind of like the heel of the meatloaf that Satan didn't want to finish."

"You're hardly
just
the leftovers!" Jesus shook his head. "He worked hard to get you, and I know every sacrifice you made to stay true." He touched her chin and coaxed her to raise her eyes. "You're Remiel, one of the Seven. Your twin, no matter what he does, can't equal that. You're my own, and he denied me that. You're courageous and wild and amazing. Not moldy meatloaf." He sat back. "What more do you want?"

Remiel's mouth was quivering. "I want my brother."

They both stayed silent until Jesus said, "Only he could have given you that."

"I'm sorry. I know that's not fair to you." Remiel swallowed. "I love you. That should be everything I want. You're everything I need. I should let go of his memory."

"The Irin were meant to stay one unit." Jesus shifted to sit nearer. "The pain is natural."

"It's restlessness. It's longing." Remiel shook her head. "I'm half an angel."

"Half of two."

"Don't tell Gabriel, but two divided by two is zero in my case." She rubbed her temples. "I wish Camael hadn't fallen."

"So do I." Jesus looked at his lap. "I wish they'd all stayed."

She squeezed his hand, and he looked into her eyes. For a long time, he and she regarded just one another, and then Remiel said, "Don't get mad at me for this, but—"

"I'm not mad."

"—but I'm terrified. Looking at him, I see myself abandoning you." She bit her lip as she stared at the wall. "That's too horrible to contemplate. How could I hate my God? I love you. But— He's calling me. He keeps calling me. I want to stay with you, but I had to pretend to be him, to think like him, and it was so easy to do it, as if it were natural for me to hate everyone."

He said, "You wanted to leave. You wanted nothing more."

Remiel snorted. "It was Hell. Anyone would want to leave."

"He doesn't."

She grimaced. "I guess not. But I did stay down there, and—"

"You didn't," Jesus said. "When it got to be too much, you fled in the only way you could."

Remiel rubbed her forehead. "I already lost him. I don't want to lose me too."

"But here you are," Jesus said with a smile, "so it worked."